


Under the Dragon's Wings

by ForeverDaydreamer



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya salt, Arya sugar, Boatbaby (Game of Thrones), Constitutional Monarchy, Daeneria, Daenerian First Constitution, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Daenerys Targaryen Lives, Daenerys the Abolitionist, Daenerys the single mom, Daenerys' campaign against slavery, I started this after reading a bunch of Fialleril's Star Wars fics, I'm feeling uncharitable to him so he doesn't get a happy ending, Jon kinda disappears off the face of the earth in chapter three, Missandei Lives (ASoIaF), Rhaegal Lives (ASoIaF), Sansa Stark Bashing, Sansa was not a good student, Targaryen Restoration, Three-Eyed Raven headcanons, a great saltfic go check it out, alternative explanation for dragons' initial extinction, back to Essos!, eventually, it was inbreeding, it wasn't magic leaking out of the world, rage quit AU, slight Cersei & Daenerys vibe from "Awake" by ThatBishLizzie, sort of loosely inspired by Fialleril's Tatooine slave culture?, the real reason Sansa hates Daenerys, this is kinda a theme in my work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverDaydreamer/pseuds/ForeverDaydreamer
Summary: After Missandei is captured, Daenerys decides she’s had enough of Westeros, goes back to Essos, and starts an Underground Railroad.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 100





	1. To Lose Missandei

Daenerys Targaryen stood on a balcony at Dragonstone, winds off the sea ruffling her hair. Rhaegal and Drogon wheeled in the sky before her.

Missandei was captured. Missandei was captured and Varys had tried to kill her. This was the last straw. Ever since she had arrived at Winterfell, since she had first felt the unsubtle glares of the Northmen and the icy derision of their lady, since Jon had refused to defend her even before he had drawn away, sickened by the revelation of their shared blood, she had missed Essos. The warmth of the climate. The warmth of the people. She had long since outgrown the belief that the people of Westeros awaited eagerly for the return of her House, but when she had learned of the full extent of Cersei’s crimes she had thought they would welcome anyone who could rid them of the Lion Queen, tha they would rejoice to be freed from the Lannister. She had thought they would have heard how she freed Slavers’ Bay and know that she would be a better ruler. But it seemed all anyone this side of the Narrow Sea could see was that she was a woman and a Targaryen, and everyone took trouble with one or the other. The North hated her because of the father who had died before she was born,  _ despite _ her coming to save their lives and asking nothing in return. They treated her people as expendable, and then they acted like they hadn’t needed her at all, because it had been one of their own who dealt the final blow. Tyrion, who had been so eager, so devoted in Essos, had become fumbling and hesitant, judging her harshly, considering her cruel for actions he’d expect of a man, and had said that the world was saved from the Long Night thanks to Jon Snow, with no mention of her. No mention of how if the world was saved thanks to Jon Snow, it was  _ because he went to her. _ He’d attributed her victory to the closest man in the vicinity. Varys had been worse--he’d immediately jumped ship, as soon as a male alternative appeared. She should have never trusted him. She should have never made Tyrion her Hand.

She’d lost Viserion. She’d lost Jorah. She’d lost Olenna and Ellaria and the Sand Snakes, the only Westerosi who had welcomed her with open arms. She’d lost Jon, when she’d only just gotten him to begin with. She would not lose any more. She would not lose Missandei.

She’d come to Westeros thinking it was home. Thinking she’d finally feel complete, feel happy, feel  _ safe _ here, like she had in the house with the red door. But recently all she’d done was miss Essos, miss Dragons’ Bay--missed the pyramids and the relative cleanliness of the streets, missed the warmth of the sun, missed the sound of Low Valyrian, the taste of spices in her food. But most of all she’d missed the people--how they’d called her Mhysa, how they had accepted her wholeheartedly and full-throatedly, how she had been the queen they  _ chose _ . She missed her certainty and sense of purpose--her sense that she was doing something important, something  _ good _ . She had thought deposing Cersei would be a good deed, but the Westerosi resisted her, and trying to force people to submit to her rule made her feel like just another spoke of the wheel. Like another mad queen crushing the people beneath her heel.

Let the Westerosi fight over their chair. She didn’t want it anymore; she didn’t like the person it would force her to be. She was a queen chosen by her people, not one forced upon them. More than that, the Iron Throne wouldn’t make her happy. If she lost Missandei, she could not picture any future for her here that ended well. She could not picture a life in King’s Landing that wouldn’t be a tragedy, filled with fear and suspicion, paranoia and loneliness, always looking over her shoulder for the next betrayal, for the next attack. She wouldn’t do that to herself. She knew she deserved more than that.

Daenerys walked to her desk, sat down, and began to compose a letter.

_ To Cersei of House Lannister, Queen of the Andals, of the Vale, the Stormlands, the Riverlands, and the Westerlands: _

_ You broke your word that you would come fight the Others in the North, but for this I cannot find it in myself to be wroth with you--you clearly had superior knowledge of the Northmen, of how they are ungrateful, untrusting and untrustworthy. Having found the Westerosi to be dishonorable, deceitful, and malicious, and understanding that you have taken captive a number of my own people, I am willing to negotiate with you terms of a ceasefire. For the return of my people alive and unharmed, and a solemn vow before the Seven to respect the independence of my allies Dorne, the Reach, and the Iron Islands, I will give my word to you that I will leave Westeros and never return so long as you are alive. Furthermore I will vow not to fund, aid, or foment any insurrections against you, even insurrections in the name of House Targaryen, so long as you recognize Dorne, the Reach, and the Iron Islands as sovereign and independent nations. _

_ Please respond with a time and place to discuss terms. _

_ Written by my own hand, I am _

_ Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains, Queen of Dragons’ Bay and Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea _

Daenerys sealed it and marked the letter with the sigil of House Targaryen. She rose and walked to her door. An Unsullied stood guard outside. Wordlessly he followed her through the castle and to the training ring where they found Grey Worm absolutely trouncing three Dothraki.

“Grey Worm,” she said. The four men stopped fighting and turned to face her. “I would like you to find a volunteer amongst the Unsullied to take this letter to Cersei Lannister.”

Grey Worm stepped out of the ring to take the letter. There was a glimmer of worry in his eye. She softened and touched his arm. “We will get Missandei back,” she said. “We will.” After a pause, she stepped back and added, “I am reasonably certain that the messenger who carries this letter will not be harmed, but it is imperative that it reaches Cersei unopened.”


	2. The Parley

Two days later, Cersei and Daenerys met on a grassy plain outside the walls of King’s Landing. Daenerys brought Grey Worm and two other Unsullied. Cersei brought Qyburn, the Mountain, and Missandei in chains. Daenerys gritted her teeth as rage swirled in her chest. She tamped it down.

“Stormborn,” Cersei said. “I see you haven’t brought my brother.”

“He is no longer my Hand,” Daenerys said simply. She neglected to mention that Tyrion was currently her prisoner, confined to his chambers at Dragonstone. She was thinking of sending him to the Starks when she left for Essos--she certainly wasn’t taking him with her.  _ May his counsel be as disastrous for them as it was for me. _

“He wasn’t very good at it, was he?” Cersei observed with a smirk.

“No,” Daenerys says blandly. “I suppose neither of you inherited the prowess of your father.” Without pausing to let that barb sink in, she cut to the point. “Let’s discuss terms. I want my people back, Gregor Clegane dead, and a vow made before the High Septon that you will not move against my allies and will respect their independence. In return, I will leave Westeros with all my supporters, recognize you as Queen of the Four Kingdoms, and never move against you for the rest of your life.”

“Unacceptable,” Cersei snapped. “Unreasonable. I’ll let your people go if you recognize me as queen of all  _ seven _ kingdoms, renounce all claim to the Iron Throne, and vow not move against House Lannister in perpetuity. Oh, and I want my brother.”

“No,” Daenerys said implacably. “My allies, Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, and Yara Greyjoy, came to me because they did not want to be ruled by you after you or your House murdered their family. Though Olenna and Ellaria are gone, I will respect their wishes. Dorne, the Reach, and the Iron Islands will be independent.”

“I notice you don’t include the North in this little list,” Cersei said. “What did they do to drive you away?”

“The North does not desire my protection, and I will not force it upon them,” Daenerys replied. “But I will not abandon those allies that were true to me.”

“And who will rule the Reach and Dorne?”

“That is for the Reach and Dorne to decide,” Daenerys said. “If one of them chooses a leader that will kneel to you I will recognize your authority. But if they choose to be independent, to rule themselves, I will support that.”

“So what you’re saying is you’ll give me the Reach,” Cersei said.

“No. I will let the Reach decide. But I will enforce their decision should you not respect it,” Daenerys warned.

“From all the way in Essos?” Cersei questioned. “I doubt it. You’d never be able to react in time. Something happened in the North to make you want to wash your hands of Westeros. Why not just hand it over to me and be done with it?”

“Because  _ I _ will honor the commitments I have made, even if most Westerosi will not,” Daenerys snapped. “I said I would fight the White Walkers and I did. I said I would have justice for Elia and I will. I said I wouldn’t leave my allies under your rule and I won’t.”

“But I imagine you also promised justice for Margaery, and you’re not doing that,” Cersei pointed out. “You’re not keeping all your promises. Don’t kid yourself, Targaryen.”

“That I leave you alive makes it all the more important that the Reach, Dorne, and the Iron Islands be free,” Daenerys said. “That their people not suffer any more under your hand.”

The negotiations stretched on for ten more days. Cersei found a Florent to pledge the Reach to her, admitted that Dorne was a lost cause, and turned her nose up at the Iron Islands as “a bunch of worthless rocks anyway,” though she wanted a promise that they would not reave her kingdom. In the end, Daenerys’ terms were met--Cersei vowed to respect the independence of Dorne and the Iron Islands, though Daenerys suspected she would renege on that as soon as the North was subdued. Daenerys gave Cersei custody of Tyrion, renounced her claim to the Iron Throne, and pledged not to return to Westeros so long as Cersei or her issue lived, or to support any insurrection in the name of House Targaryen. Daenerys was allowed to incinerate the Mountain. Most importantly, Cersei released the prisoners, and Missandei’s chains were broken once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys kills Euron and frees Yara offscreen.


	3. The North Reacts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks react to Daenerys' decision to leave.

Arya couldn’t believe it, when she heard as she traveled through the Riverlands that the Dragon Queen had given up her claim to the Iron Throne and left Westeros, leaving the people to the mercy of Cersei. She’d known she couldn’t be trusted.

It made little difference to her, though. She snuck into the city, stole the face of a maid at the Red Keep, and waited. Cersei was celebrating her success before bed with goblet after goblet of wine, gloating to no one and cheerfully imagining the ruin of the Starks. Arya stood stoically, refilling Cersei’s goblet as she fantasized about having Jon hung, drawn, and quartered, and Sansa flayed alive. Once Cersei had gotten up, swaying as she walked, changed into her nightdress, and dismissed everyone as she retired to bed, Arya waited for the other two women to leave. Then she drew her knife.

Cersei was surprised when she looked up and saw Arya still standing there. “What are you doing?” she drunkenly slurred. “I said out!” 

Arya smiled and peeled off her face. “Winter has come for you,” she said. “The North remembers.” 

Cersei’s face twisted in horror, shock, and then anger. Recognition and pure, unadulterated hatred sparked in her eyes. “Lyanna Stark,” she snarled. She dove from the bed, her hands outstretched, clawing at Arya. It was too easy to dodge her flailing hands and sink the knife into her chest. It all happened so fast that Cersei didn’t have time--or perhaps wits--enough to scream and alert the guards. And so it was that Arya was able to put her stolen face back on, leave the room, and slip out of the Red Keep with a bloody prize hidden under her skirts, before the alarm was raised. It was morning before Cersei’s headless body was found, and by that time Arya had already left the city.

The head was a present for Sansa. Sansa had told her the story of how Joffrey had made her look upon their father’s head. Cersei didn’t have any children left alive to be forced to look upon her head, but maybe it would soothe the hurt and remove the vividness of the memory for Sansa to be able to see a golden Lannister head moulder on a spike.

* * *

Jon was in the Neck, marching south with the North’s army to fulfill his promise and win Daenerys the Iron Throne, when he received a raven releasing him from all his vows. Daenerys renounced all claim to the North and bid him to take his people home. The Northmen rejoiced to receive this news. Cries of “The free North!” abounded, as did insults to Daenerys and her foreign armies. Jon tried to convince the Northmen to honor their promise and continue south, but they refused. Soon they were even griping about the Dragon Queen making them march as far south as they did.

Chagrined, Jon turned around and headed home. There he found Sansa had declared herself Queen of the North, having cited in his absence his bending the knee to Daenerys and his arguments to continue marching south as reasons he shouldn’t resume his mantle as king. Before he could even react to this, Sansa publicly announced the secret of his parentage and urged him to go south and take his rightful throne.

* * *

Sansa had bitterly cursed the silver-haired whore when she received the raven announcing her departure from Westeros. Daenerys had renounced the Iron Throne and promised never to return dependent on Cersei recognizing the independence of Dorne and the Iron Islands--Dorne and the Iron Islands but not the North. That bitch! She was practically goading Cersei to take up arms against them!

Luckily Cersei was unlikely to live much longer. Not with Arya after her. The North would be free, with her as the queen, as it should be. It was child’s play to convince the bannermen to abandon Jon--they already resented him for bending the knee. She hinted to a few key figures that she suspected Jon might be Rhaegar’s bastard by Lyanna, to be able to ride a dragon, and suddenly the whole North was frothing at the bit to throw Jon over in favor of Ned Stark’s oldest child. When Jon arrived, looking positively befuddled by this change in affairs, she made sure all the bannermen were gathered in the great hall and immediately announced the truth of his parentage to cut off any remaining support that he might have. Jon was shocked and enraged by this, but he didn’t deny it. He didn’t know how to play the game. He left Winterfell in a huff after Sansa privately suggested that they marry and unite north and south under Stark rule. He was disgusted by this idea. “You’re my  _ sister _ ,” he’d said, even though she was not.

When he left the next day Sansa idly considered that he might go back to chasing that silver cunt. Then she shrugged her shoulders and decided she didn’t care. The North would never stand for a Targaryen ruler, and now that the truth was out there it meant they’d never rally to Jon either. He had served his purpose. Sansa didn’t need him anymore. If he was going to be as stupid as Robb, as stupid as Rhaegar, that was no danger to her anymore.


	4. Return to Essos

Daenerys returned to Meereen to widespread celebration. Mercenary armies hired by slavers had begun sniffing around the cities of Dragons’ Bay with her gone. When they heard of her return they retreated. Cries of “Mhysa!” filled the air, and Drogon and Rhaegal roared their joy in the skies.

She was greeted at the docks by the citizens’ council she’d left in charge of Meereen. They looked at her slightly nervously, probably wondering what her return meant for their jobs. She greeted them warmly, and asked them to meet her in the Great Pyramid, in the residence she was reclaiming, to discuss the state of the city.

They paraded through the streets on white horses, waving at the crowd. The people were happy to see her here--it was such a change from the deathly silent Westerosi, who were either paralyzed in terror or fuming with resentment. Just the short trip through the city reassured Daenerys that she had made the right choice: she was home.

When they arrived in the meeting chamber in the pyramid, one of the councilmembers asked timidly, “Mhysa, where is Viserion?”

It warmed Daenerys’ heart to see this concern for her children. Had any of the Westerosi, besides Jon, bothered to learn her children’s names? They had usually referred to them by their color, though Drogon also got “the one who looks like Balerion.”

“Viserion is dead,” she announced. “It sounds too strange to be true, but there were monsters in Westeros, monsters that could enslave the dead to kill the living. Who could enslave even dragons. Viserion was killed, and then risen in service, to these creatures. We set him free, but at great cost.”

Little sounds of distress were heard around the table. Daenerys understood very well--Missandei had told her some things about slave culture, and she knew that before her coming death was welcomed by some as the only way they could become free. It was one of the only respites they had. The Others, Daenerys imagined, would have been even more traumatic for the people of Essos than they were for those in Westeros.

One of the most senior councilmembers, a wizened old woman who former slaves all called Grandmother, commented, “So even in the free lands of the West, you were freeing slaves. Everywhere you go, Jelmazmo, you break chains.”

“I am confused,” an idealistic young freedman said, “your letter said that the Westerosi rejected you as a foreigner, that they did not want you to be their queen. Surely if you defeated this great evil you are a hero to them as you are to us.”

“That was not the case,” Daenerys said. “I imagine most of Westeros is still unaware of the threat that nearly overran them, as they were contained to the north. But the Northerners were...I cannot describe them as anything other than ungrateful. They were facing a foe they could not defeat without us, and yet they acted as if we were a burden. An imposition. And they were outraged by the idea that we might ask for something in return for our aid. They had no respect for our sacrifice, and no sense of reciprocity. None at all.”

“Westerosi are strange,” the young man commented, a look of disgust on his face. There were nods around the table.

“I want to reassure you,” Daenerys said, “that I have returned to Meereen simply to live amongst people that welcome my presence. All I want is to live in peace, and to ensure that the people remain free. I am not here to wrest power back from the hands of this council. When I left Meereen I gave up the crown to let the people choose who they wanted to lead them, and I will not go back on that decision. I am not a queen any longer, just another person living in this free city, who will defend it if the need arises.”

“Mhysa, we are not like the ungrateful Westerosi,” the young freedman said. “You have freed us, and ruled justly. We will follow you. You are our queen.”

“I agree,” the wealthy merchant says. “Your Grace, you have control of the army. Your dragons are a large part of what keeps our city from being overrun with mercenary armies. You are beloved by the people, who so long as you are out of power will remember you fondly, and think that whatever mistakes the council makes you would have avoided. Once word of your deeds in Westeros spreads, they will clamor for you to be restored. It would be impractical to deny you the city when its heart is yours, and likely would prove harmful to the councilors who advocated against it. But there is no reason that having a queen should mean that the people don’t have a say. I propose we draw up a set of terms delineating which powers the crown has, and which the council and the vote of the people have.”

“That is an excellent idea,” Daenerys said. “Considering the madness of my father, I think it very wise to put limits on a monarch’s power. The history of the Targaryens in Westeros have shown that the greatness of a person, the soundness of their mind, the quality of their character, is no guarantee for that of their children, or their children’s children. I am with child. I hope that my line will fight slavery and defend Meereen on dragonback for many generations to come, but I need to know that, should one of my descendants inherit the infirmities of my family, that they will not be able to harm their people the way my father did.”

It was decided that there would be a great festival, to be held as soon as preparations could be made, which would have three purposes. First, it would celebrate Daenerys’ return. Second, it would announce the coming of her child. Third, it would present proposals for the new form of government and the rules concerning the monarch’s power for a vote. This vote would also include the question of whether Daenerys should reassume her position as queen of Meereen, and whether this position should be hereditary.

The set of rules, eventually called the First Constitution, that were passed at the festival was a revolutionary document. It included a list of the rights that every person in Dragons’ Bay would have, including the right to worship whichever god they chose, to speak freely, to protest, to not to be ordered to marry against their will by family members, and the right of women to own property. It put declarations of war up to a city-wide vote, except in cases of invasion. It mandated yearly elections for the council, now called the Queen’s Ministers. The monarch’s role was curtailed, much diminished from the absolute power enjoyed by the kings of Westeros. The succession followed the laws of absolute primogeniture, allowed for both voluntary abdication and a monarch being forcibly stripped of their office for gross cruelty or having an unsound mind, and even included the condition that every time a new monarch took the throne there would be a city-wide vote to approve them or to do away with the monarchy altogether. The constitution stripped the crown of absolute control of both the army and the treasury, and separated the monies and properties of the city from the incomes and holdings of the royal family (though the latter were still numerous). The constitution began with a denunciation and repudiation of slavery, and, most radical of all, offered refuge, protection, and citizenship to any and all runaway slaves that made their way to Dragons’ Bay. The document invited all the slaves in the world “to take shelter and be free, underneath the dragon’s wings.” Daenerys also secretly sent out agents and allocated funds to create a network of safe houses and covert transportation for runaway slaves, to aid them in reaching her lands.

The population of Dragons’ Bay doubled in the next decade as millions of slaves seized this opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise boatbaby!  
> Also I really don't do justice to the creation of the constitution and the abolition efforts. Those parts are kind of more idea than fic. If anyone wanted to flesh out these ideas, and particularly the Underground Railroad, in their own fics they are welcome to it!


	5. So, What Happens To Westeros?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens to Westeros after Daenerys leaves? Nothing good. Looks like it will be a while longer before the Seven Kingdoms know peace...

So, what happens to Westeros? Jaime Lannister arrived in King’s Landing to find his sister murdered and his brother in a dungeon. At Tyrion’s urging he claimed the throne as Cersei’s heir, naming Tyrion his Hand. As retaliation for his sister’s death (perhaps Arya shouldn’t have drawn a wolf with the caption _the pack survives_ on the wall as a calling card?), he cut off all trade with the North. Queen Sansa was quite peeved by this, and spoke up vehemently on her cousin Jon’s behalf, naming him the rightful king of the south. Jon Snow, however, was nowhere to be found. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway--the North wanted him on the throne but was reluctant to invest any money or men into securing it. Nothing short of a dragon and a strategic marriage alliance would make it possible for Jon to take on the Lannister armies. Queen Sansa began to reprimand Jon vehemently (despite his absence) for allowing the “silver bitch” to leave Westeros with “his” dragon.

All was not well for the Lannisters either. Tyrion suggested that, while Lord Florent would be Lord Paramount of the Reach and Warden of the South, Highgarden be given to his sellsword friend Bronn, who he also gave a position on the small council. At this Lord Florent promptly refused to renew his oaths of fealty to House Lannister and declared himself King of the Reach, alleging that his under the treaty signed by Cersei and Daenerys, his vows were only to Cersei _and her issue_ , not House Lannister as a whole. Meanwhile, Lord Hightower, the late Lord Tyrell’s goodfather and Margaery Tyrell’s maternal grandfather, had been quietly gathering support. He seized Highgarden, and _also_ declared himself King of the Reach, citing Daenerys’ vow to protect the independence of her allies and claiming that the Florents did not truly represent the will of the Reach or the memory of the Tyrells. It was rumored that the Iron Bank was funding one or both of them. The Reach was now embroiled in a three-way war. The Hightowers seemed likely to win--the Florents were stained by their connection to Stannis Baratheon and the atrocities committed in the name of the Red God, and the Hightowers already controlled the most territory, had the support of more Reacher houses, and even had reached out to Daenerys’ other allies. Lord Hightower sent one of his grandsons to marry Sarella Martell, once a Sand Snake, now the ruling Princess of Dorne, and thus secured an alliance against the Lannisters. There was discussion of adding the Stormlands to this alliance by supporting the claim of Gendry Baratheon, who was after all legitimized by their shared ally Daenerys. Poor Gendry was having a rough time of it--his position as Lord of Storm’s End was being disputed by the Lannisters and several of his bannermen, and he was facing an impossibly high demand for grain as the only Lord Paramount willing to trade with the North. (Dorne was quite offended by the to-do the North was making about Rhaegar and Lyanna’s epic love, and had named as one of the conditions of their alliance with the Reach the continued embargo with the North. The Riverlands, who had taken the brunt of the fighting in the War of the Five Kings, had nothing to spare for the North. Edmure Tully was also miffed that his Stark cousins had never come to his rescue to free him and aid him in retaking his land as the Tullys had done for them. The Vale was too busy rooting out Petyr Baelish’s corruption and tussling over control of Robert Arryn to fight for independence, and too dutiful and honorable to disobey their king.) The North very quickly found themselves starving, with no allies, no glass gardens, and very limited means of procuring more food. On top of that they had to deal with Ironborn reaving whenever the weather permitted it. The Ironborn had almost immediately reclaimed Bear Island, and soon were making inroads on the western coast, winning the smallfolk over with imported grain from Essos and the Reach.

Within a year smallfolk all over Westeros were muttering resentfully that things would be better if Daenerys was queen. If Daenerys was queen, war wouldn’t have broken out between the Lannisters, the Florents, and Hightower-Martell alliance. If Daenerys was queen, all the areas that no longer had access to the Reach’s grain (and this included some parts of the Reach) would have enough to eat. If Daenerys were queen, the Iron Islands wouldn’t be conquering large swathes of the North and reaving the Riverlands and Westerlands.

Sansa Stark quickly found her allies dwindling away to nothing. Brienne of Tarth had left after she’d declared herself Queen of the North, disgusted at her underhandedness. Arya left after she discovered that Sansa had offered her hand in marriage to various southern lords in return for grain. Jon’s wildlings went back beyond the Wall, and Bran went with them. The knights of the Vale had gone home. Her relatives in the Eyrie and in Riverrun either couldn’t or wouldn’t help her. Her attempt to coax her uncle Edmure into adding the potential breadbasket of the Riverlands to her kingdom by offering to name his child as her heir (if he immediately sent the child north for her to raise) not only failed but was extremely unpopular amongst the Northmen. She ruled because she was a Stark, after all, not because she was _Sansa_ . A Tully with no northern blood had no claim to the winter throne. Sansa backtracked and said she’d been offering a _marriage alliance_ with her heir, but it was a weak defence. After this blunder the pressure she was under to marry increased to the point that she had no choice but to give in. She chose Ned Umber as her bridegroom, which was rather ironic considering she’d advocated for him to be stripped of his land. It was an aggressively safe choice: with most of his family dead or disgraced traitors, Ned would never be able to garner the kind of support he’d need to be a political threat, or even an equal, to Sansa. He’d never be able to challenge her authority the way the wealthy, well-connected Manderly she was expected to choose might. Also, he was young enough that it would be understandable if the marriage was left unconsummated for a few years. Unfortunately, the downside of choosing a husband specifically for his lack of power and inability to develop it meant that there were no real strategic benefits to the marriage--the Umbers couldn’t offer any food or money or even men for the army. Being as close to the Wall as they were, any smallfolk who hadn’t been brought to Winterfell had been more or less completely wiped out by the army of the dead. It was a marriage that made Sansa feel safe, but did absolutely nothing for her in the short-term at a time when she needed immediate short-term benefits.

Sansa had inherited an impossible situation completely of her own making. After the multiple wars and the destruction of the glasshouses, the North needed southern alliances to survive the winter. Even with his tunnel vision surrounding the Others, Jon had managed to secure the alliance that would give them a fighting chance of survival once the monsters were gone. And Sansa had driven all those allies away. The nobility of the North had eagerly participated, yes, but she’d been the ringleader. She’d been the one to demonstrate disrespect for Daenerys Targaryen and to signal that such behavior acceptable. There was no way her infant reign could survive those conditions--and indeed it didn’t. It barely lasted a year. The North was overtaken by the Ironmen. Winterfell was taken again, and Sansa was captured, tried for treason against Queen Daenerys, and executed. Sansa had hoped for a last-minute rescue from her sister, but it was not to be, for Arya was already dead--when she’d left the North she’d decided to assassinate Yara Greyjoy to try to stop the raids. However, Yara had been expecting something like this might happen, and knew of Arya’s training with the Faceless Men. Everyone who interacted with her was warned and told to monitor each other for disappearances or strange behaviors, had a number of passcodes to prove their identities, and were randomly subjected to intense questionings about obscure details about their their childhoods that Arya would have no way of knowing. She did kill a man and steal his face, but she was quickly caught. She took down half a dozen fighters with her, but she couldn’t hold out forever, and died as she lived: fighting. And so the line of the Starks, which had lasted for eight thousand years and withstood innumerable challenges, went extinct in the male line, name disappearing from the annals of history, all thanks to petty jealousy and irrational hatred of a single woman. It likely would have been used as a parable about the unsuitability of women to leadership, except there were so many other, more successful female leaders of the same period as to disprove the argument. In the end Sansa Stark was written off as the equally inept protegee of Queen Cersei of the infamously poor decision-making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Ned Umber is supposed to have died in the Long Night but let's just say he didn't.


	6. What Happens to the Targaryens?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BOATBABY!! Also dragon babies!!

Daenerys had a daughter. Her name was Alysanne, and she was perfect, from every silvery ringlet on her head to each tiny little toe. The sun was rising for the first time since Alysanne had come into the world and for a moment everything was right in the world. Time slowed to a crawl, and the pink rays of the rising sun felt like a cocoon. Like the world had shrunk to just Daenerys and her tiny daughter, like they were all that was and ever would be. In that moment Daenerys didn’t think she would mind, if they were the only people in the world.

Then Missandei walked into the room and she remembered that, as precious as her little girl was, she wasn’t the only person she loved. Missandei’s face was flushed and her eyes were bright. “Daenerys,” she said. “Daenerys, there are--they found--they found--” She spoke almost incoherently, hurriedly flipping between languages.

“Missandei, slow down, slow down! What is it?” Daenerys replied.

“Dragon eggs!” Missandei burst out. “They found dragon eggs!”

* * *

Half an hour later, Daenerys was in the former fighting pits that now served as her children’s den, Alysanne swaddled in her arms. Drogon and Rhaegal were crouched defensely over a nest, covering it with their bodies, their eyes tracking the movements of the guards, but they drew back when they saw their mother approach. Daenerys felt tears in her eyes. “I become a mother again, and a grandmother, on the same day,” she reflected. “On the same day.”

There were four eggs. One was pale pink, and significantly smaller than the rest. One was blindingly white, with some hints of blue. One was a coppery color, and the last was as blue as a cloudless sky.

They hatched after a year and a day, and Daenerys named them Sonar, Kios, Jaedos, and Ropagon. Winter, spring, summer, and fall. After two months Kios, the pink egg, and Jaedos, the blue egg, had gone in Alysanne’s cradle, as the Targaryens of old had done. They were the first to hatch, by almost twenty hours. They trailed Alysanne as she took her first steps. Soon Jaedos grew too large to follow her around the pyramid, but Kios never did. Kios grew much more slowly than the other dragons, and stopped at the size of a large cat, where the other dragons seemed to never stop growing. A dwarf dragon, if such a thing existed. There was something deeply soothing, Daenerys thought, that Kios alone among her children and grandchildren never grew too large to fit in her lap.

Fifteen years later, it was Alysanne who suggested that perhaps the first extinction of dragons had come not because of magic leaking out of the world, but because of inbreeding. She pointed out that the detriments caused by inbreeding were common knowledge when it came to domesticated animals and even humans. Could it not be the same with dragons? The Targaryens at the time of the Conquest had only three dragons, the only dragons known to be alive during the period, from whom all later Targaryen dragons came. With such limited numbers perhaps it was inevitable that after generations of inbreeding they would weaken and sicken and die out.

This did not bode well for the new generation of dragons. Daenerys didn’t know if Drogon and Rhaegal shared blood. Even if they didn’t, their children definitely did. How could inbreeding be avoided? Alysanne suggested scouring the lands of Asshai for more eggs, or even dragons, as the Asshai’i people claimed there were always dragons in the Shadow. She also pointed out legends of wyverns and drakes and dragon-like creatures in Sothoryos, and suggested they be searched for.

The expeditions to Sothoryos had three major consequences. First, it brought about contact and trade between Meereen and the inland peoples of Sothoryos. Second, the diseases of each of these two people found expansive new populations with no built-up immunities or antibodies, leading to many deaths on both sides. Third, wild dragons were found. They could not be cajoled to allow riders or to follow the Targaryens back to Essos, but they would permit intermingling with the Targaryen dragons, enough to prevent inbreeding. The wild dragons had proliferated in the heart of the continent for untold centuries and millennia, and there was a stunning variety of shapes, sizes, and colors. Future Targaryen dragons ranged in size, some growing and growing and growing so large as to blot out the sun for an entire town like Drogon, and some staying quite small like Kios, and often used as guards and protectors of children. Following in Daenerys’ footsteps, many of her descendants bonded with multiple dragons on whom they conferred familial ties, calling them brothers or sisters or children.

With their dragons, and their constantly-expanding population of freedpeople, the Targaryens soon found themselves expanding their territory. Alysanne married one of Daenerys’ bloodriders’ sons, and they had three children, Missandei, Rhaego, and Aemon. Under the rule of Missandei the First (in the new Targaryen dynasty, the name Missandei was as common as Aegon) the territory ruled by the Targaryens expanded so far that it could no longer reasonably be called Dragons’ Bay. A vote was held on what the name of their country should be, and the name Daeneria won by a landslide. Daeneria quickly became a thriving, prosperous nation, one that encouraged innovation and creativity, constantly showcasing new developments in the arts and sciences that improved life for their people.

Both of Missandei’s brothers became kings in their own right. Rhaego became a khal, and fathered so many children that the Dothraki eventually evolved into a society of dragon-riding nomads. Aemon went to Westeros, married Olenna Redwyne (who was trying her hardest to live up to her namesake), and reunited the Seven Kingdoms under the Targaryen banner, ending close to a century of unrest, Westeros’ own Century of Blood. He implemented a constitution along the lines of the Daenerian First Constitution and many of the other reforms pioneered by his grandmother and her inner circle. His oldest daughter, Margaery, inherited the Iron Throne, and his second, Aelia, married Daeneron Greyjoy and became Wardeness of the Ironlands. (The Ironlands, the new kingdom made up of the North, the Iron Islands, and parts of the Riverlands had maintained independence from the rest of Westeros for the entirety of the Century of Blood. However, the Iron Islanders found such a broad expanse of landlocked territory, and the reduced number of lands open to reaving due to conquering and alliances, difficult to rule and harder to feed. When Aemon came, they decided to reunite with the south so they wouldn’t have to pay tariffs and export taxes on southern foodstuffs.)

And so Stark blood returned to rule the North once more, though Winterfell was never again inhabited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aemon is the baby of the family. His siblings are very concerned when he expresses his desire to go to Westeros. Both Missandei and Rhaego send one of their most trusted, talented people to protect their baby brother. Missandei sends her handmaiden most skilled in espionage (complete with a flock of servants/informants). Rhaego sends a hulking Dothraki warrior. Somehow the history books always get which one became Aemon’s lover wrong....


	7. The Starks in the Afterlife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks get a chance to reflect on their legacy. Except for Jon. Who knows what happened to him; he's missing from this fic.

Sansa heard the whoosh of the blade as it swung through the air and closed her eyes. She felt pain as the sword severed her head. She felt the wood and straw under her knees--and then suddenly she didn’t feel them anymore. Instead, she felt the cold, familiar touch of snow. “Hello, sister,” a familiar voice said. Sansa opened her eyes and looked up. She was surprised to find that her head was still attached to her neck. She was in a godswood, snow on the ground and in the air. Before her Bran was nestled at the base of a tree, and beside him Arya crouched in the snow. Sansa saw something lying a rumpled heap at Arya’s feet, realized it was probably a face, and pointedly looked away.

“What is this place?” Sansa asked. “Arya, Bran, what are you doing here. Are you---” Her sentence cut off as she realized she did not want to fill in the rest of that sentence. She did not want to acknowledge that she herself was dead.

“One of the duties of the Three-Eyed Raven is to guide the First Men and their descendants into the next life,” Bran said. “Our ability to see all of the past, present, and future, is so that we can answer questions about what happened or will happen to loved ones, or causes that a person was particularly devoted to. I have already fulfilled this function with Arya, but she refused to move on without you. Since I knew you would be along shortly, I allowed it.”

“You _knew?_ ” Sansa shrieked. “You _knew,_ that I would die, that the North would be overrun by Ironmen, and you allowed it? How could you? What kind of brother are you?” Sansa stomped up to him and used her height to tower over him imposingly. She had half a mind to smack him.

“I already told you that I am not Bran Stark,” the creature wearing her brother’s face said calmly. “The Three-Eyed Raven is not permitted to interfere with what will be coming to pass unless the survival of all humanity is at stake, or the Old Gods say otherwise. And frankly Sansa I’m surprised you didn’t see this coming. Anyone as familiar with the state of the North as you were should have been able to see that Daenerys Targaryen was the North’s best chance of surviving the winter without losing the majority of its population. When you began antagonizing her I presumed that you simply didn’t care how many smallfolk died, so long as you got to be queen. I had thought that you would have had a plan for how to deal with the unrest mass starvation would cause, or for the myriad of ways, military or economic, the south might react to northern independence, but in that I was disappointed. I overestimated you--I think Arya and I are the only two people to ever do so.”

“Yeah. Bran explained to me all the ways that your actions-- _our_ actions--were horrifically shortsighted,” Arya said. “I shouldn’t have just assumed you knew what you were doing. Why didn’t you tell me the Boltons destroyed the glass gardens? Even I know the North has no chance of independence without them.”

“How can you say that? We fought for our independence. We suffered for it. We _deserve_ it!”

“Except it’s not a question of deserving, it’s a question of surviving,” Arya said. “Didn’t you pay attention to your lessons? Without the glass gardens, and with our winter stockpile diminished or just _gone_ from all the wars, we’re entirely reliant on southern grain, which the south has no obligation to sell to an independent north. Much less sell at fair prices. If the glass gardens survived and you had increased production in them immediately after retaking Winterfell an independent north could have held on until the next summer. Probably. Without the glass gardens we’d need a lot of southern grain, and being part of the united Seven Kingdoms, giving the south some sort of stake in our survival, is the best and cheapest way we could have gotten it.”

“Uncle Edmure should have helped us!” Sansa said.

“Uncle Edmure _couldn’t_ help us,” Arya retorted. “You never saw the Riverlands after the wars started. I did--so many towns and fields were burned or looted, so many people died...they don’t have enough for their own people, let alone us.”

“Well then what about the Vale?”

“Having known Robin Arryn, you should have never expected him to continue to support you without having him present to directly manipulate him, or having an underling do so in your place,” Bran said. “Even more so after the death of his previous puppetmaster, Baelish, and the revelation of all his crimes to the Valemen. Furthermore, even though the Vale was one of the kingdoms least affected by war, they’ve never been known for high agricultural output. Grain is not the thing to expect from an alliance with them.”

“They were our allies, they should have given it to us,” Sansa said stubbornly.

“You seem to have a misunderstanding of how alliances work,” Bran replied, “probably because for so long you had so little to offer, and yet people kept helping you anyway. That’s kindness or pity, in King’s Landing, or in the case of the Northmen, duty, loyalty, desire to return to status quo, fear of the alternative. You’ve never experienced a normal alliance, and have dealt mainly with enemies or bannermen, both of which involve a code of conduct quite different from that of an ally. An alliance expects to see both sides benefit. Both sides need to have something to offer. Both sides help each other. The North, towards the end, had very little to offer besides fealty, and could not expect to get things without giving that up. Most people would not help the North out of the goodness of their hearts. They would expect to get something in return.” Bran paused. “Ironically, the one exception to this was Daenerys Targaryen, in that she was willing to fight the Night King with us without expecting anything in return. She also promised to support the independence of the Iron Islands. If you had approached her respectfully, and offered something in return, like Queen Yara did, she likely would have granted you independence too. But I suppose you were tired of playing nice, of being the little bird singing her songs. Or maybe you thought that people in power didn’t have to use courtesy as their armor, after all the examples you saw?” He shook his head, clucking his tongue. “I would have thought after all you suffered at the Lannisters’ hands you would know better than to emulate them. Would see how Cersei’s way of ruling was not sustainable. How quickly you became what you spent so long struggling to escape.”

“I am _nothing_ like Cersei!” Sansa said, outraged and offended.

“Yes, you were. You were simply a less extreme version,” Bran said. “You never murdered your allies in a sept, but you went out of your way to antagonize them. Your behavior towards Daenerys was just like how Cersei mistrusted and resented the Tyrells, and eventually made them her enemies instead of her allies. Like her you did nothing to improve the relationship, not even bothering to hide your dislike. You did nothing to bring the allies closer together, or to secure loyalty, even when it would have been easy to do so. You couldn’t even manage being polite. You acted as if you didn’t need allies at all, as if you were secure in your power despite a rather precarious position, just as Cersei did. You will be remembered as Cersei’s student, a watered-down copy of her who was less bold, less wicked, but inherited her political shortcomings and pitfalls, her inability to put her emotions aside to think rationally and to foresee the long-term consequences of her actions.”

Sansa’s heart sank in her chest. Ever since she’d escaped King’s Landing she’d motivated herself with one goal: being Queen in the North, powerful and untouchable and beloved. She’d promised herself to be a different kind of queen than Cersei. She’d told herself that when people remembered her they would remember a strong, noble, and good queen, not the pitiful girl who had been beaten and stripped before a mad king. But even that was preferable to being remembered as Cersei’s lackluster imitation. All her suffering, all her hard-won successes and the bitter truths she’d learned, her sense of _progress,_ of self development, wiped out. Just like that. She’d strived for so long to change the image history would paint of her and now she turned around and found the paint was dry at the worst possible moment. Now she was no better than Robb—the Queen Who Lost the North, just as he’d been the king who lost it. For the Starks to lose their seat of power twice in one generation...what would people think of them? They’d think they were all soft in the head. Maybe they’d think they were all mad like Aunt Lysa.

“I notice you haven’t asked what happens to the North after your death,” Bran said wryly.

In truth Sansa felt too exhausted to care, and certain she wouldn’t like what she heard. What Bran had implied was true: every time she spoke passionately about the North’s need to be free she’d really been talking about _herself._ Her wellbeing and autonomy and that of the North had been synonymous in her head. Still, she gestured for Bran to continue.

“Yara Greyjoy takes the North,” Bran says bluntly. “It’s remembered as one of the most impressive military campaigns of all time, considering it was fought entirely in winter. The lords resist almost to the last man, but their smallfolk desert in droves and they don’t last long. Yara allows the ladies of the North to inherit so long as they take Ironborn husbands and send hostages to Pyke. By the time winter ends the North is almost entirely run by women and well on the way to integrating into Iron Islander society. Between the deaths from the wars and those who starve or freeze during winter, within twenty years most of the Northern people have Iron Islander blood. The Iron Islanders have some difficulty adapting to an agrarian lifestyle—we do not sow and all that—and once summer comes they invade the Riverlands with the intent to conquer and the Westerlands with the intent to loot. Between the Greyjoys, Martells, and Hightowers the Lannisters are overthrown, and then the Reachmen and Westermen begin fighting over control of the Westerlands. There are also several wars over King’s Landing. Westeros does not know peace for a hundred years, until Daenerys Targaryen’s grandson comes and unites the Seven Kingdoms once more.”

“The North will never stand for a Targaryen ruler,” Sansa protested.

“Your North wouldn’t, but before winter is over this is remembered as the Northern Folly,” Bran replied. “Besides, by the time Aemon comes the North is more Iron than what you would call Northern, and the Iron Islanders will remember Daenerys very fondly. A Targaryen is the _only_ person they would bend the knee to. And whatever dregs of the Old North remains supports Aemon as well, since at the time he arrives in Westeros he is the only person on the continent with Stark blood.”*

“You mean…?”

“Yes,” Bran says. “Poor Jon never knew, but he got a child on the Dragon Queen. She followed her mother, becoming a queen in Essos, as did _her_ daughter. Daenerys was the root of two great Targaryen dynasties, one in the West and one in the East. There was also another grandson who became the Great Khal of the Dothraki, but that probably doesn’t interest you.”

Sansa pursed her lips, face twisting in distaste. It was true, she cared nothing for Daenerys’ foreign savages. So long as they stayed out of the North she did not care to hear anything about them. But it irked her that one of the last scions of House Stark would waste his life amongst such a barbaric people. She wouldn’t want a brat with Targaryen blood to hold Winterfell, of course, but for one of the descendants of the oldest House in Westeros to sink so low….!

But he would be a descendant of the House, not a member. The name had died with her. That was a shame, of course, but maybe it was for the best that it die rather than pass on to inbred foreign abominations. It was infuriating that the last vestiges of her blood in the world was so thoroughly enmeshed with the legacy of _that woman_ . Sansa wanted to share nothing with her. _Damn Jon_ , she thought once again, _thinking with his cock_ . She wished his seed hadn’t taken root. She would rather the Stark line to have truly died with her than to let the perverted offspring of _that woman_ carry it on. They weren’t worthy of it.

Arya was sad. She sat down and curled up, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her cheek on her knees. “We drove Jon’s child out of Westeros,” she said. “We drove part of our family out of Westeros. We’ll never know them. And neither will he.” She sniffled. “We were wrong, to be so against the Dragon Queen. We were prejudiced. And this is the price of it.”

Sansa remembered Cersei saying, _When you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die._ Daenerys Targaryen had won. She had held on to her crown, and passed it down to her own daughter. _She_ was responsible for the survival of Stark blood, however diluted it might be, instead of Sansa. _Her_ blood would take back the North. _Her_ blood would hold it. She had taken the fate Sansa wanted for herself, and ostensibly placed House Stark--which was _Sansa_ \--under her control, part of her legacy, relegated to a footnote in the great Targaryen history. And if Jon still lived _she_ would be what he thought about, what he regretted, instead of Sansa’s death and the loss of the North _again_. She’d bested Sansa in every way, and she hadn’t even been trying. And doubtless she was remembered as a great queen, and all throughout her life be surrounded by throngs of admirers. Black fury rose in Sansa’s heart.

The truth, that secret Sansa kept until she died and even after it, the one that she would never, ever speak aloud, is that _that_ was the reason she’d hated Daenerys so: that her followers were so devoted to her. That she had trusted them absolutely--some of them, at least. Sansa had felt threatened by her, had been instantly suspicious of anyone as powerful as she, much less _more_ powerful. She’d _hated_ how Daenerys was all Jon talked about, how she had made herself, and not the Starks ( _Sansa Sansa Sansa_ ), his first priority. But the real loathing hadn’t come until Jon had spoken of Daenerys’ personal history, how she had been sold as Sansa had been, how she had been betrayed, how she had risen above all of it stronger than ever and how similar Jon thought their experiences were. Because their experiences _were_ similar, but they had come out of them two very different women. Sansa was cold, controlled. Controlling. Unfeeling, some would say--and it was true, that there were many emotions she didn’t, couldn’t feel anymore. She couldn’t feel safe. She couldn’t feel loved. She didn’t trust people, she didn’t like people, and people didn’t like her. She had to put on a song-and-dance to convince people to begrudgingly back her, even though all of the North was suffering under the Boltons. She was passed over for Jon at the earliest convenience. She had to drag Jon’s name through the mud to make herself preferable, even though she was the one who was trueborn and had powerful relatives. She had told Jon Daenerys was not the queen the North had chosen, but the truth was it was _Sansa_ who hadn’t been chosen. Sansa had _inherited_ her claim, and all of her supporters were on account of her parentage, not her own worth. Daenerys had none of that--she had lived almost her whole life in a land where no one had any obligations towards her, and yet she had emerged with one of the most loyal followings Sansa had ever seen. No one had the passion for following Sansa that the Unsullied or Dothraki had for following Daenerys.

It wasn’t just that Daenerys enthralled people the way Sansa had always wanted to and yet rarely did. It wasn’t even that the people fixated on Daenerys became loyal followers when the only person obsessed with her--Petyr, again inherited from a parent--had been a controlling creep. It was that at least some of their feeling for Daenerys was returned. It had been clear from her interactions at Winterfell that she _cared_ about people, that she respected and trusted her people, that she could forgive those, like Varys and Tyrion, who had been against her. She loved her handmaid, so much that she had decided to give up a throne that she very much could have won so that she would live. Sansa couldn’t imagine loving someone so much. She had given up Jon for power, she had been willing to trade Arya to keep that power. She hadn’t cared that Baelish had been poisoning Robin, even when she thought he was one of the last of her blood left in the world. She hadn’t told Jon about the Knights of the Vale when that knowledge might have saved Rickon. She was not sure she had _ever_ been able to love somebody that much--she had lied for Joffrey, hadn’t she, that day when Lady died, when he had clearly tried to hurt Arya. Love was gone for her, and so was trust. After King’s Landing perhaps she could have been saved, but after Ramsay she would never be able to trust in another or their good intentions again. She hadn’t trusted Baelish--well, it had been apparent almost as soon as she arrived in the Vale that Baelish couldn’t be trusted. But she hadn’t trusted Jon, not with the knowledge that the Knights of the Vale would come to their aid, not in his judgement of Daenerys. She hadn’t trusted Arya, when Baelish tried to play his games to come between them. The closest she had come to trusting was Theon, and that was in such an extreme situation, and with so few other options, that she wasn’t sure if that counted. She’d taken a leap of faith when she was desperate, to decide that his guilt and his desire to help her was genuine, that it wasn’t some elaborate new torture Ramsay had dreamt up. But would she have trusted him with her secrets, her emotions, her unguarded thoughts, and her machinations afterwards? No. Would she have viewed him as off limits, not to be manipulated, not to be used as a piece in the game? Not really, though she would have tried to arrange a positive outcome for him as she used him. Certainly, if Ramsay hadn’t been a monster, she could have never forgiven Theon. Certainly, if he had approached her in the Vale she never would have considered letting him stay and serve her. If there had been _any_ other options with Ramsay…. She couldn’t imagine being someone who could forgive someone who had actively worked against her family, let alone trust them enough to be highly-placed advisors, unless she had no other choice. If she had been Daenerys, and Tyrion and Varys had come to her, she would have killed them. Considering that they had ultimately betrayed Daenerys, that probably would have been to her benefit. She wouldn’t want to have the capacity for forgiveness that Daenerys did, but she did envy her her ability to let people in again. She wanted to be able to have that again, with a few people. With her siblings, at least.

Daenerys had everything Sansa wanted to have, and had emerged from her tribulations the way Sansa wished she herself could have. That was the reason she’d hated her, had wished her the worst from the start. And now she could admit, at least privately, that it had cost her everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *It might seem unrealistic that all descendants of the Starks died off in Westeros. Logically, you’d think there would be more people descended through the female line, or from second or third sons. To this I say: yes. Let’s say there were some, but they all died at the Red Wedding. The Boltons wanted to limit the number of people who could contest their claim.


End file.
